


The Manes Entertains (Then Falls to Love's Reign)

by AndreaLyn



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alex Inherited a Lot of Money, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Jesse Manes Died Early, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:22:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22972462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: Alex Manes inherited his father's money and got a ticket out of Roswell, but when a recent comment gets taken out of context, he becomes LA's latest scandal and needs a way to repair his reputation.Enter Michael Guerin, recently homeless , who might just be the solve to all of Alex's problems (even the ones he didn't realize he had).
Relationships: Alex Manes/Original Male Characters, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 103
Kudos: 238





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title? Pygmalien.

“Oh, man, did you fuck up.”

It’s the first thing Liz says to him when he calls, which means that the internet remains a truly brutal thing that can cut a man down to size. Alex’s shoulders fall and he groans, knowing that he’d made a mistake, but who doesn’t? 

“I didn’t _mean_ it like that, it was out of context,” Alex complains sharply. 

“Yeah, well, unless you do something about this, the entire world is about to think you’re some haughty rich bitch,” Liz says pointedly. “And I know you kind of are, but I also know you have a really good heart under all that money that you got in the inheritance. Which, good riddance.” Alex gives a sound of agreement.

He’s still shocked that he’d received what he did when Jesse had passed away. 

Alex had been twelve years old and his father expressed his displeasure with his fists, belts, and any other object he could find, but after the accident, the will had revealed that of all his sons, Jesse seemed to have the most hope and faith in Alex, leaving him half of his funds. His _impressive_ amount of funds, seeing as it turned out Jesse had a lot of investments that paid off.

He’s been living on his own since he was sixteen, with no job to speak of outside of turning up in the gossip pages with a new hot guy, an Albuquerque resident by summer, and a California socialite the rest of the time. 

“I have too much of a hangover for this kind of guilt trip,” Alex mutters. “Are you just going to yell at me?”

“ _Alex_ ,” Liz sighs, with the concern that feels like she’s stroking his forehead with cool fingertips over the phone. “Aren’t I your genius friend? Your most intelligent one? The cool friend with all the answers?”

“You are,” Alex agrees, not sure where this is going. “Why are you using that tone?”

“I’m not just going to yell at you, because I know how to fix your problem.”

“You have a time machine,” Alex assumes, because that’s the only thing that would make sense to him. 

“Better.”

Alex squints as he tries to think about how she could have something _better_. 

“I have a friend going to Stanford who’s recently homeless that you’re going to take in off the street.” Liz sounds entirely pleased with herself, but she probably deserves to be given the solution she’s talking about. “Maybe if the internet sees you being good friends with a kid with no money and down on his luck, they’ll forget that you basically said that homeless guys will never make it out of their situation and that there’s nothing that scares you more than being poor.”

Out of _fucking_ context. 

He’d been talking about how society put up all these barriers that made it impossible for someone who’d lost everything to get back up, and when he’d been talking about being scared about becoming poor, it had been honest. When Jesse had died, before the will had been read, he really thought that might be him.

Of course, in a club with a ton of drunk people around, he’s not surprised it got misinterpreted. 

“I’ll think about it.”

“Alex, come on, it’s…”

“No, Liz, it’s my home,” Alex protests, because that’s the part she doesn’t seem to get. It sounds so easy when she puts it like that, as if he would just open the doors to his apartment and let a stranger in. 

He’s not that desperate yet, is he?

“I’ll think about it,” he promises, and Liz gives him a few disgruntled noises of agreement, but then she hangs up, after securing another promise from Alex that he doesn’t intend to brush it off. 

Days later, the fervor hasn’t died down the way Alex had been hoping for.

When he pops out for brunch with Liz, there are paparazzi hanging around outside his apartment, which is a bad sign. Usually they only hang out here if he’s been wrapped up in some new celebrity scandal, but this time it seems like _he’s_ the one who’s famous enough to be paid attention to.

He waits until he’s in a back booth at their favorite diner to pry off his hood and sunglasses, and even then, Liz has to glare away some reporters. 

“Okay. I’m willing to listen.”

Liz beams as she digs into her phone to show off some pictures. “Michael Guerin,” she tells him. “I’ve known him since we were kids. Really sweet guy, with really awful luck,” she says. “He’s been at Stanford on a scholarship, but he just got evicted from his apartment because he can’t afford the rent and student housing doesn’t have any room for him. He’s living out of his truck.”

Alex takes the phone, looking at the reasonably put-together young man.

“Homeless, huh?” he echoes. 

“Exactly,” Liz says, seizing on the opportunity. “You get a nice PR boost, Michael gets the chance to get his savings back in shape so he can get a place next semester. It’s win-win-win.”

Alex gives her a confused look. “What’s the third win?”

“Because you’ll be so grateful to me, you’re going to buy breakfast today and for the next few times together.” She’s beaming as she offers that out to him, resting her chin on her fingers while batting her lashes at him. 

Alex stares at the picture on the phone. He’s cute, sure, but this isn’t some weird version of Grindr that Liz wants him to analyze. Guerin’s probably straight, or one of those academics who doesn’t even think about that. He glances out the window where the paparazzi are still lurking, no doubt eager to fan the flames of his social disaster. It’s not like he _has_ to do this. There are other solutions, but none of them where he can help out Liz the way he can if he agrees to this.

What’s the worst that can happen?

“Fine,” he allows. “You can tell him to show up at my place tomorrow.” 

He reaches for his hat, jamming it on his head along with his sunglasses, digging out some money to cover brunch. 

Liz stares at him, confused. “Where are you going?”

“Hopefully a very dark bar where no one knows who I am,” he mutters, sliding out the back door with the intention of finding somewhere to distract him. 

If he’s lucky, maybe he’ll even find some _one_ willing to do the trick, too.

* * *

“Fuck! Fuck yes, Andrew, fuck,” Alex moans, as the pretty twink on top of him writhes and twists a little, eliciting that long moan from Alex. 

Andrew is the fifth guy in as many weeks to come home with Alex. 

It’s not that he’s a slut. Honestly, Alex doesn’t believe in the word, but he enjoys himself. Sometimes, he even enjoys himself with multiple men in a week.

The fact that Jesse Manes passed away before he realized just how little Alex actually wanted to follow in his footsteps had been a stroke of luck. They’d moved out to California when Alex was thirteen and he’s been on his own since sixteen, with a few connections back to Roswell to keep him grounded. 

He got good at plenty of things. He’s a great musician, he’s pretty handy with a computer, and he’s great in bed. 

The fact that he plays to his strengths is something that he doesn’t think anyone should blame him for. After all, no one tends to leave his apartment unsatisfied, which is a trend he hopes to continue. 

Tonight, he manages to give Andrew three orgasms before they call it a rest, with Alex collapsing back on the bed. Panting, he thinks he should be pickier about who he takes home, because even though he gave three, he only got the one in return. 

He’s recovered within moments, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to snuggle after the fact. They’d set ground rules before Andrew even turned up, with Alex warning him that he’s not the kind of guy who likes to curl up after sex, cuddle, and talk about what they just did. Andrew had been fine with it, and things had progressed from there. 

“You’re that guy, right? Rich Bitch?”

Alex glances up from his phone, noticing that Andrew is still in the process of dressing himself. He really should start setting ground rules about talking after sex, because he needs to start avoiding this kind of thing. “Yeah,” he agrees, owning it.

“My friends all warned me not to come home with an asshole like you, but it was fun,” Andrew says, eyes bright. “You’re not as bad as the internet says you are.”

Is anyone?

“Maybe,” Andrew says, easing closer as he toys with his shirt, a lock of his blond hair falling over his forehead in disarray, “maybe we could do this again?” he asks hopefully, and leans in like he’s waiting for a kiss.

“Sorry,” Alex replies bluntly. “I don’t fuck guys more than once.”

Andrew makes a face as he backs away like he’s been struck, mutters ‘asshole’ under his breath, and Alex settles back against his headboard, knowing that maybe he’s not a jerk for what the whole online community thinks he is, but that doesn’t make him perfect either. He slams the door on the way out, which is fairly normal for Alex’s conquests, because they always say they’re down for whatever Alex wants when he picks them up.

It's only after they find out they’re nothing special that they freak out.

He makes a mental note to check the hinges on the door to make sure they’re not fucked up from his latest petulant fuck before scrolling through his contacts. He adjusts the sheets around him as he eases back, calling Maria to take his mind off both the disappointing fuck of the night, and his impending charity work. 

“It’s not even midnight,” Maria says when she picks up. “Whoever was your flavor of the night must have been boring.”

She doesn’t bother with niceties anymore, not when Alex calls. 

Alex settles on the bench-seat by his window, overlooking Los Angeles. “You’re as on top of time as ever,” he agrees, resting his chin on his bent knee. “Did Liz give you the story yet?”

“I heard that you’re going to have a roommate soon,” Maria agrees. “How are you feeling about that?” 

Alex reaches down to fiddle with a piece of nail varnish coming loose from his fingers, shrugging as he settles back against the plush cushions. “Dunno,” he admits. “You know the guy, right? Liz says he’s from Roswell.”

“Not originally,” Maria admits. “I think you two barely crossed paths. You were being moved out to California just when Guerin joined us at high school. Brilliant kid,” she says. “Liz hated him, he always outscored her on tests. Then he got a scholarship to pretty much everywhere he applied. He chose Stanford,” she says. “Weirdly, Max and Isobel Evans threw a fit about it. They were always really close.”

Alex remembers them, mainly because they’d showed up after his Dad had passed away. They’d quietly eaten lunch with him after telling him they were sorry he lost his father, that they understood what it was like to feel lost. 

At the time, he thought it was weird, because the Evans’ were great parents, and he didn’t see why either of them felt like they were lost. 

“It’s temporary,” Alex insists. “He’ll come stay here, I’ll boost it on social, then he moves back to school and I get the paparazzi off my back.”

“You should get your guitar out of storage,” Maria suggests. “He used to come around the Pony, Mom let him play the guitar, he always seemed calmer. Then, he left for Stanford and we haven’t really kept in touch. Isobel says he’s doing fine, treating the homeless thing as temporary. I think he called it ‘communing with nature’?”

Alex groans, hoping he’s not about to welcome a hippie into his house.

“What about my uh, preferences?” Alex asks, pacing around his house in his robe, needing to move so the nerves don’t get the better of him. “Is he going to care?”

“Guerin was pretty live and let live,” Maria admits. “I think you’re fine. If not, just ignore the guy, use him for what you need, and soon enough, you’ll be free, little bird.”

Use him, abuse him, then lose him.

If Alex Manes had a philosophy that deserved to be tattooed on his back, that one might be it. Besides, why should he feel guilty about it? Michael will be getting something out of this as much as Alex, so there’s no reason for him to be upset about the fact that it’s all temporary. 

It’s a few months of a roommate. 

For his reputation back, Alex thinks he can handle it.

* * *

It’s only been two days since Michael showed up at his door, but they haven’t been going well.

Michael had exactly two duffel bags when he’d turned up along with keys to a beat-up old Chevy (the one he’d been living in, according to Liz). “Alex Manes?” he’d asked warily, with the confusion of someone who clearly didn’t live and die by the tabloids. They’d sat down and hashed out the arrangement and Michael had been fairly easygoing, agreeing to everything (more than Alex would have). 

That had been a relief.

Michael’s attitude since has been anything but.

He’s avoiding Alex. At first, Alex thought maybe it was just his imagination until he’d wandered out from the bedroom in the middle of the night to find Michael chomping on chips, talking on the phone to someone. He’d instantly ducked down, said, “oh, shit!” and then tried to stay out of his way, like if Alex couldn’t see him, he wouldn’t talk to him.

There’s also these _looks_ that he gets, like Michael thinks Alex is the scum of the earth. 

Alex goes to yoga, does his meditation, and reminds himself that it doesn’t matter what Michael thinks, so long as his social reputation starts climbing out of the valley it’s plummeted into. Seeing as no one’s calling for his head anymore, he thinks it’s working.

The situation at home has _got_ to improve.

“I bought you some beer,” Alex says, because he’d been hoping that maybe they could share a drink and talk, figure out why Michael seemed to hate him so much.

The very announcement made Michael roll his eyes so hard that it looked painful.

“Okay,” Alex says sharply. “What the fuck?”

“What?” Michael retorts, like he’s trying to play the innocent card. 

“You!” Alex snaps, his patience running out. “Why are you acting like I’m the devil incarnate. Am I seriously that bad? I don’t snore, I’ve tried really hard not to bring anyone back here while you’ve been settling in.” Sure, Alex has been going out to other guys’ places, but that’s not something that should be impacting Michael. “Why do you hate me so much? We came to an agreement, I thought. This semester, you get the run of my apartment, the spare room, and I get to post a few Instagram stories and posts about our friendship and your past. You agreed!” he says sharply, trying to figure out where it all went wrong.

Michael inhales sharply, nostrils flaring, and he grabs one of the beers to wave it in front of Alex’s face. “It’s this!”

“I saw you drink wine with dinner when Liz came over,” Alex protests, feeling clueless. “If you’re sober, we can take all the booze out of here and…”

“No, not that,” Michael interrupts him. “This. You see that I’m annoyed by you, so you just go out and buy me beer. I’m surprised you didn’t buy anything else to try and get yourself out of hot water.”

Alex very carefully doesn’t mention there’s a new jacket sitting in a bag in the front hall for Michael.

“You throw money at problems,” Michael scoffs. “You’re a spoiled brat who got all the money he needs years ago, and anytime something gets hard, you decide to throw money at it to solve it! It’s like you don’t even consider that money can’t solve every problem.”

Oh, it’s like that, is it?

“Maybe not, but it’s solving yours right now,” Alex counters, because Michael’s problem is exactly the kind that needs money thrown at it. “And funny how I don’t see you rolling your eyes in your reflection every time you pass a mirror. Is it easy?” he demands. “Being a hypocrite?” 

“I don’t need your money!” Michael hisses at him.

“You do!” Alex shouts back at him, furious that Michael is so stupid about this. “How can you be this much of a stubborn asshole? You were living out of the back of your truck! Do you know how easy it would’ve been for things to snowball? You might have left school, lost your chance at a good job, all because you don’t want a handout?”

“I can fend for myself.” Michael’s lower lip is shaking with rage, a look in his eyes that makes him seem almost feral, as if he’s had to _always_ do exactly that.

Alex softens as he thinks about what Maria had told him, about the group homes and the foster parents, about the criminals in Roswell who had taken in kids only to damage them even worse. “I’m telling you that you don’t have to,” he says, trying to de-escalate the situation. “I know that helping you out helps me, but just … take the lifeline, Guerin.”

Michael looks wary, like he’s resistant about accepting, but he also looks so tired.

“Maybe I turn to my money to solve my problems,” Alex admits, breathing out shakily, “but it’s been there for me. It gives me a roof over my head, food on my table, and if I can afford to spoil my friends, and I can, then I want to. It’s not like I have anything else going for me.”

“That’s not true,” Michael says sharply, shaking his head. 

Alex shrugs, scoffing as he settles back on the couch. “No one’s pounding down the door to be my bestie. Or anything else.”

“People are idiots, what do you want?”

He wants to be loved. He wants someone who can be here for him. He wants someone who sees Alex Manes for who he is, and then decides that’s fine by them. Michael Guerin is just another in a long list who’s found fault with him, though at least this time it’s the money and not the clothes he wears, the people he sleeps with, the way he keep people at arm’s length.

“Right now, for you to accept the beer I bought, wear the jacket, and if you really feel that strongly about the fact that I’m spending money on you, then you can pay me back after you move out,” Alex negotiates. 

It feels like Michael might challenge him or fight him. 

From the look of him and hoe he’s staring Alex down, it’s almost like it’s taking everything in his body to even consider the fact that Alex is offering him something without expecting anything on the other side. He bristles, then he groans, and finally, he folds.

“Fine,” he says, and collapses into a chair in the kitchen, swiping one of Alex’s beers. 

He doesn’t look happy about it now. 

He’s worse, later, when the jacket that Alex bought him fits like a glove and makes him look incredible. Alex watches, smugly, from down the hall. When he catches Michael smiling at his reflection in the mirror, Michael freezes, and spins to narrow his eyes at him.

“This doesn’t mean that money solves every problem,” he warns.

“Agreed,” Alex allows, “but I think it definitely solved this one. You look great,” he praises, looking at the way Michael’s biceps flex in the jacket, and how the cut of it seems to make him look even taller than before.

Michael flushes as he draws the jacket a little tighter around himself. Those pink cheeks look _adorable_ , and Alex is about to open his mouth and tease him some more, but then Michael fumbles to get his phone out of his pocket. “S’ringing,” he mumbles, even though Alex doesn’t hear anything. 

If a graceless exit is what Michael needs, then Alex will let him have it. 

“Sure,” he says with a nod. “I’ll order some food and leave some out for you.”

He doesn’t get a reply. Michael’s already ducked inside his bedroom, and while it’s definitely an awkward end to the evening, he doesn’t seem to hate Alex anymore. Whether or not Michael thinks that Alex’s strategy of throwing money at a problem works, it’s clear that in this case, it did.

It's just more proof that Alex only needs the right price, and he can fix anything.


	2. Chapter 2

“Okay, you gotta help me settle a bet.”

Alex looks up from where he’s shaping his brows, giving Michael a wary look. He’s standing in the kitchen, but not by the espresso machine, which is the only thing that actually has a use there. Honestly, Alex has occasionally used the oven for storage, so there’s no point in treating the kitchen as a useful room. 

“Name it.”

“Have you ever actually kept a piece of fruit in your fridge? I think the shelves are made of cardboard in here, dude.”

Alex may have a tendency to lean towards take out, it’s true. “No one ever taught me to cook,” he admits. 

“You moved out at what, sixteen, right?”

Alex nods his confirmation, checking his brows one last time in the mirror before he heads over to sit at the breakfast bar, where he can give Michael his attention. “Dad passed away when I was twelve.”

It had been both too soon and too late. Too soon, in that he’d been alone and his older brothers had stopped talking to him when they’d realized that Jesse had left the bulk of his fortune to Alex. Too late, because even though Alex was only twelve, Jesse’s displeasure at his clothes and choice of music had still earned plenty of punishments.

“I heard you were in group homes around that time.”

“Santa Fa, Albuquerque,” he lists. “I guess I smelled like trouble, because I never really stayed in one place too long. I got back to Roswell when I was thirteen,” he says. “I think you were already being home schooled at that point.”

“Private tutor, the best money could afford,” Alex says wryly.

In truth, he’d been trying to avoid the money-hungry denizens of Roswell who’d started coming after him when they realized the money Alex would have at his disposal when he turned sixteen and it was officially put into his account. Arturo had been the one to take Alex under his wing and help him, suggesting that he stay home for a while.

“You were a legend,” Michael says, pulling out items from the fridge. “Everyone in Roswell talked about you like you were Scrooge McDuck.”

Alex lets out a bemused laugh. “I don’t swim in my gold coins.”

“Yeah, but I bet you’d look good if you did,” Michael says, his eyes sliding over Alex’s body with a long, almost lingering look.

Alex flushes, but pulls himself out of his stupor when Michael puts the milk on the counter. “Wait. I don’t remember buying groceries.”

“Because you didn’t,” Michael replies. “I did a quick shop, and I’m making you breakfast.” 

“Michael, you don’t have to m…”

“I am.” 

Alex shuts up, though this is a first for him. He’s never allowed anyone to make him a meal, mostly because people get kicked out of his apartment before they can start to think there’s a shot at anything more. It’s a weirdly personal feeling to be in the middle of, and if he’s honest, he’s not entirely sure what he does here.

Michael takes pity on him, handing him a bowl. “Here, you can whisk the eggs for the omelette,” he encourages, handing over the whisk with the other hand. 

Alex nods gratefully, taking that into his hand and beginning to beat the eggs, happy for a task. “Is this you trying to even things out?” he asks, because he’s noticed Michael has a tendency to do that. 

Michael squints at him, like he’s not sure what he’s talking about. 

Unfortunately, Alex isn’t about to let it drop. “You get mad when I offer things that you can’t somehow even out,” he points out. “You made sure to bring home beers the night after I did, and every time I try and give you something, you either don’t take it, or I find some small thing in the apartment the next day. You don’t have to keep track of favors, Michael.”

“Where I come from, you do,” is his heated reply.

“Sometimes, a kindness is exactly that.”

Michael gives him a long, soul-piercing look. “I’m not, though.”

“What?”

“You, taking me in,” he points out. “You’re not doing it out of the kindness of your own heart,” he reminds him. “I know we didn’t sign a contract, but we might as well have, because you needed me. The shitty thing is, I still need you more,” he admits. “So, yeah. Our arrangement is predicated…”

“Predicated?” Alex interrupts, like that’s the only thing he can focus on.

“…on the fact that you need and I need you. Balance. Which is why I want to make sure we keep this slate clean, because I don’t want to owe you anything when I leave here.” He doesn’t sound angry about it, more panicked than anything, as if the thought of him owing something to Alex would set him back.

Alex takes in a deep breath, trying to decide what battle he wants to pick here.

He sets the bowl of beaten eggs on the counter, taking a moment to collect his thoughts and put his words in order.

“You’re not wrong,” he grudgingly admits. “My reputation was pretty much tanked before you moved in, and I needed to do something to help that out. Liz came up with the idea, but I didn’t take you in because I needed the assist. I could’ve donated to a charity, I could’ve gone out and issued a retraction, or just spent a day at a soup kitchen.”

“So why all the social posts?”

“Because they do help,” Alex confesses. “I took you in because a friend told me about your situation. It helps me out, but I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but things are okay now for me. I don’t _need_ to post about you all the time.”

That doesn’t mean he wants to stop. 

He likes having a break in his usual social media routine. It’s fun, to take pictures of Michael and share them on his social instead of the usual outfits of the day, pictures of perfect sunrises, and other content geared to show off his flashy lifestyle. For once, he gets to brag about having companionship and company, and he knows that Michael’s easy on the eyes.

He’ll still be the envy of the town, but for other reasons now, and he likes that change. 

“Eggs, please,” Michael summons, holding out a hand for them. 

Alex moves closer to hand them over, watching as bacon, eggs, and pancakes sizzle on the griddle, while Michael pours them fresh orange juice. This close, Alex can smell the body wash on Michael’s skin, can see his hair still damp and lightly dripping onto his t-shirt. 

It’s an intimacy he’s never participated in before, because no one is allowed to stay the night.

Hell, Michael’s even wearing one of Alex’s old t-shirts.

His heart seizes up with something he doesn’t understand, but he understands enough to ease back and get a hold of himself. By the time they’re sitting down for an incredible breakfast, he feels more like himself.

They joke about music and movies, Alex asks about Michael’s classes, and Michael teases him about the last few times he’s ended up in the tabloids. It turns out that breakfast with a friend isn’t so bad, and maybe Alex doesn’t have to protectively guard his space the way he has for so many years.

This is pretty awesome, after all. 

Good food, good company, and a hot guy to look at. Alex could definitely do worse. 

“Next time,” Alex says, once he’s put the dishes away. “I’m taking you out to my favorite greasy spoon. Fair’s fair,” he insists. “You spent your money on groceries to cook for me, I get to take you out for a diner breakfast.”

Michael doesn’t need much convincing. He grins at him, nods, and extends his hand to shake on it. “You got yourself a deal.”

* * *

Carlos is possibly the hottest ten that Alex has found on Grindr in the last few months. 

They’ve been talking back and forth for days, making plans to get together and go explore the city. Of course, Alex knows that’s code for them going to a club or restaurant for all of three minutes before they find a horizontal surface to fuck on. When he’d first connected a few months ago, Alex had put him in his back pocket for a rainy day.

Today, it’s pouring outside and Alex has nothing better to do.

The weird thing is that he’s so hesitant to do it.

“You going out?” Michael asks from the couch, where he’s curled up under a blanket, watching old detective movies from the forties. 

Alex has been standing in the front hall for about ten minutes, texting with Carlos, though he can tell he’s started to pump the brakes on meeting up. They’re supposed to meet up and have a date, but the thought of leaving the apartment is torture. Alex glances to Michael’s bare feet popping out of the comfortable blanket, the way he’s rubbing his lower lip after every bite of buttery popcorn, and his intent half-lidded gaze on the screen, which makes his lashes brush his cheek.

He can almost _hear_ Liz’s voice in the back of his head, reminding him that he’s only taking in Michael to give him a leg-up until he’s ready to go back to Stanford community housing. 

Hooking up with Michael would be a monumentally bad idea, especially when he’s got someone like Carlos waiting for him. Besides, it’s not like Michael’s ever admitted that he’s _anything_. No girls are brought back to the place, and no guys either, even though Alex had done his best to insist that Michael can do whatever he likes.

Even without that on the table, Alex feels a pull back towards the couch.

“What are you watching?” he asks.

“The Maltese Falcon,” he says, with a fond smile. “Max loved watching this. I think he secretly wants to be a detective,” he confesses. “Or write the greatest murder mystery of all time, and get a little of both worlds.”

He’s heard that name before, though Michael doesn’t exactly talk about him so much.

“Which Max is this?”

Michael glances at him, popping a chip into his mouth. “I’m surprised Liz hasn’t gushed about him. They’re dating,” he says, with the kind of gleeful grin of someone selling out their family. “He’s sort of like my brother? Kind of,” he admits. “We were all at the group home for a little, but he and Isobel got adopted.” Michael fidgets, rubbing his hand over his sweatpants, staring down. “Their parents went looking for one kid, but they chose two.”

Alex leans over the back of the couch, staring down at Michael’s forlorn expression. He knows the Evans twins, he just never knew that they had another boy they considered a brother out there in the world.

He wonders how many nights Michael sat up wondering what his life would’ve been like if he’d been the one chosen, instead of those parents picking two.

“I guess Liz didn’t want me to prod into her romantic life,” Alex quips, even though he knows the truth is nowhere near that.

Alex gets the sense that she didn’t tell him because Alex has gone on record before vividly and loudly condemning romantic relationships as being a trap that society baits you into and only poor suckers fall for. He feels a flash of guilt that Liz might take it so personally that she doesn’t even tell him when she’s met someone.

Maybe he did deserve that scathing article written about him after all. 

Alex leans over the couch a little more so he can steal some popcorn, intently watching the screen as the characters move on, continuing to investigate. 

“Comfortable up there?” Michael teases, from where Alex is almost half-hanging over the couch so he’s in a position to steal the popcorn.

Ignoring that, Alex gestures to the screen. “This a habit of yours?”

Michael shrugs, staring at the screen. “Not really,” he admits. “Max liked mysteries.” He says it in this way that Alex feels like he should read between the lines, but he doesn’t understand why he says it like that. 

When Alex doesn’t respond, Michael lets out a huff of breath and gives him a forlorn look, like he's somehow upset about the fact that he’s going to have to explain. 

“I didn’t exactly have a place to live, growing up. The group home was the best place, but you try fighting for the television against a bunch of other kids, and it’s not like they had a great choice of movies.” He’s fidgeting with his blanket as he speaks, and Alex is completely drawn to him.

He's not sure he even remembers that there’s a hot guy waiting for him, a single message away.

“Anyway, the foster homes weren’t any better and when I was living outta my truck, it’s not like I plugged in a television, but anytime that I’d stay over with Max or Isobel, or anytime we went to the drive-in, we’d watch one of three things.” He grins up at Alex, and some of that tension just bleeds away now. “Mysteries, romantic comedies, or alien flicks.”

“Roswell,” Alex supplies with a knowing nod.

“Yeah,” Michael agrees, even if he looks like he’s thinking about an inside joke. “Roswell. So, I like watching these things when I’m feeling down.”

Alex rounds the couch to sit beside Michael, giving him a curious look. “What’s got you down?”

“I don’t know, really. I mean, I got a roof over my head again, but I guess I miss Max and Isobel. I’m lonely?” he says, but he says it in a way where he doesn’t sound convinced that’s the problem.

That, or he doesn’t want to admit it to Alex, when he’s sitting right there. 

Something inside Alex gets it, because isn’t that why he spends so long on his phone, searching for a connection? Isn’t that why he goes to the clubs as frequently as he does, seeking out a skin-on-skin connection, something to make him feel alive in a way that he never has? It’s got to be an attempt to drive off that ever-haunting loneliness.

So he gets it. 

There’s a ping on his phone from Carlos, asking where he is. 

Alex slides the phone back into his pocket, ignoring the implication of what he’s about to do. “How about some company?” he suggests. If Michael’s lonely, then maybe what he really needs out of this is a friend.

Michael’s eyes slide down to Alex’s phone, which is buzzing with another few notifications. 

“I thought you were gonna go out,” he says, given that Alex is in a pair of skinny jeans and a see-through mesh t-shirt, his eyeliner on, and his piercings in. “It’s just a mystery movie, and I’m lonely, but it’ll pass. I’ll finish the night with some whiskey and go to bed. You don’t have to change your plans for me.”

No, he doesn’t.

The thought of prying off his combat boots and getting comfortable under the blanket is wildly tempting. He could find a connection without blasting his eardrums, without having people spill shots on him all night, and sure, Carlos is hot, but he could have a small dick or be terrible in bed.

It’s better to bet on the known.

Alex hauls the blanket up and unzips his boots, prodding at Michael’s hip. “Scoot over,” he insists. “I wanna know whodunit,” he says, and pries the popcorn bowl from Michael to set it between them to share.

He ignores Michael’s speculative and amazed look, because it’s not a big deal that Alex cancelled a sure thing for this. They both need a friend right now, more than they need anything else. He’d be stupid not to. 

Besides, if Carlos is actually worth it, then he’ll give Alex another shot.

* * *

The hundredth notification is the one that sends Alex over the edge.

How can so many people be so good at rubbing salt in the wound? Alex took on a charity case so he wouldn’t get crucified in the newspapers, now there’s this handsome man in his house who sleeps in his guest room and makes him breakfast wearing nothing but a pair of Alex’s pajamas, which ride up a touch too short on his ankles. Every time he posts a picture about him, someone else asks if Alex has a new boyfriend. 

Why the hell would Alex be so lucky? 

Michael always puts a flower on the breakfast tray, and when the sun hits his hair, he looks like an angel. He sings Alex’s favorite songs in the shower after Alex played a few Panic! albums for him, he rubs Alex’s feet in his lap while he rambles about his courses, and he leaves little notes before he heads off, with random stupid facts geared to make Alex laugh when he wakes up in the morning and find them.

It’s exactly what he doesn’t need in his life.

Alex Manes doesn’t do feelings. There are at least twenty Page Six blind items about that fact. He’s not about to start now. Michael had asked him if he wanted to stay in and watch a movie with him after he finished studying, but Alex needs to do something, so he’d made his excuses and gone to his old stomping grounds.

He needs to prove to himself that he’s _not_ catching feelings. 

It’s why he’s in a pair of his skinniest jeans, wearing a mesh crop top, eyeliner, and a collar, sliding into the sea of people at the gay club. He doesn’t dance with anyone for longer than a few minutes, like he’s desperate to prove that he’s not tied down, not even in this.

“Hey! Can I buy you a shot?”

He nods eagerly, following after his new friend for a tequila, then heads back out to the dance floor, sweating and moving in the thick press of people. The pattern continues like that.

Drink, dance, drink, dance, but no one seems right. 

The last guy he’s with is almost perfect. His hair falls to his shoulders in soft, honey curls, but his skin is too tan and he’s too tall. Alex still tries to make it work, grabbing him by his crop top to haul him in, grinding down on his thigh, but then the man leans over and whispers, “Do you want to get out of here?”

Alex hesitates.

For the first time in his life, a hot guy wants to fuck, and he hesitates.

It’s only the stubborn determination in his brain to prove that Michael hasn’t gotten to him that gets him moving again. He fumbles to wrap his hand up in the soft cotton of the guy’s crop top, yanking him towards the bathroom, stumbling towards the last stall as he pushes him down to his knees.

“Suck me,” Alex insists, giving his cock a few pumps, like that’ll wake it up.

He thinks about all the usual things that gets him going. Rock hard abs, full lips, sweaty bodies, the sound of skin smacking skin while being fucked, but it’s not doing it for him. Alex lets out a frustrated growl, closing his eyes to get his brain in order.

“Fuck,” he hisses, and tries again.

Full lips, pink and soft, Michael’s thumb running over the bottom one.

Hard abs, peeking out when Michael reaches for the pancake mix on the highest cupboard, showing off the dimples of his ass when his sweatpants ride down.

Long, steady, perfect fingers while they play Alex’s guitar, calloused and warm and rough. The way they push through golden brown curls while the morning light dapples against them from the window. Something low and heated burns in Alex’s belly and he lets out a moan when the guy gets his mouth around his erection.

It looks like those thoughts of Michael did the trick, but the minute he looks down to put himself back in the moment, he loses it. 

“What the fuck, dude?” the guy accuses, letting Alex’s dick slip past his lips, easing back on his heels. “You got a button or something? It practically deflated.”

“Fuck you,” Alex snaps, zipping himself up, hoping there’s no one here ready to take pictures or quotes, because the last thing he needs is another article in the news.

That’s what got him into this mess in the first place. 

He makes it outside and hails a cab, curled up in the back of it while the driver tries to make small talk. Alex says nothing in return to the incessant chatter, pulling out his phone and debating texting Michael. Now that he’s stopped moving, the alcohol hits him, sending the world swimming. Alex is usually fairly good at holding his liquor, but by the end, he’d been so determined to chase Michael out of his head, he’d turned to almost every variety of booze to try.

“You gonna be okay, pal?” the driver asks when they pull up to his apartment.

Alex answers with a hundred slapped in the guy’s palm for a twenty-dollar fare, which seems to quiet him down. 

Swaying, Alex grabs his keys and makes it upstairs, colliding with the hard wall a few times when the spins starts to get the better of him. He presses his hand to the wall as he opens the front door to his apartment with a triumphant shout, but when he gets it open, he has to grip the doorknob.

The world is spinning and it wants to throw Alex off. 

“Alex, what the fuck?” 

He staggers inside the main hallway, right into Michael’s arms when he lets go of the doorknob and trips on his own two feet. Once he’s there, he lets himself collapse, not bothering to keep himself up. Between the shots and the beers and the dancing, his whole world is spinning, and even though Michael is doing his best to hold him up, Alex feels like he might hit the ground any moment.

“I take it you had a good night,” Michael notes wryly, helping them both shuffle inside the apartment. 

You’d think, but no.

“It was miserable,” he slurs, his voice not modulating for the fact that he’s not in the midst of loud bass, which means he practically shouts the words. “I wanted to go out and have fun! I wanted to have a good time, but it was awful,” he complains, fingers scrambling to grab at something, sliding down the fabric of Michael’s hoodie as he tugs on the strings to haul himself up, staring up into his eyes, feeling sad and _changed_. “I don’t know how, but you did this to me.”

Michael laughs, but he looks hurt all the same. “I didn’t do anything to you, Alex.”

He nods, sadly, like he didn’t want this. “I couldn’t,” he mumbles. “I tried, but I couldn’t.” That’s Michael’s fault, because every time he’d gotten close, he’d realized that the only person he wanted anything from is Michael, who’s helping him move along the hall and doesn’t want him like that.

They sat at a table and set the ground rules. Alex doesn’t get to change them now. 

“All right, come on,” Michael urges, tugging Alex along with him towards the main bedroom.

Once they’ve collapsed on Alex’s massive California king, Michael begins to extricate himself from Alex’s arms, but that’s the last thing he wants. He doesn’t want to wake up cold and alone and pathetic. Alex makes a sad little noise and fumbles to grab at Michael, tugging him back.

“Hey,” Michael says softly. “I’m just gonna go to the spare room, I’ll be right next door.”

“No,” Alex protests. “No, I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to be alone,” he pleads. “Stay.” He pulls on Michael’s hoodie so he’s curled up with Alex, as close as if they had been sleeping together. “Please? Stay with me?”

“Let me get you a bucket and a glass of water, at least.”

“But you’re coming back? You’re coming to stay?”

“Yeah, Alex,” Michael promises, a soft and sweet smile on his lips. “I promise.”

Alex must close his eyes, because when he opens them again there’s a full glass of water on the side table, a trash bin beside the bed, and Michael’s lying there two feet away from him.

He’s _too far_.

Alex makes a disgruntled noise and wriggles across the bed to close the distance between them. He might not be happy about the fact that he can’t get it up, but he knows that there’s someone warm and happily willing to curl up with him right there. With a content sigh, Alex rearranges himself half on top of Michael, knowing that he’s found his place. 

“I have all the money in the world,” Alex mumbles, rubbing his cheek against Michael’s overly warm chest (how can he be so _warm_ ), not even paying attention to what he’s saying. “I made you stop being mad at me with money. I bought this house. I keep my friends happy by giving them things. I have so much money.”

“Weird flex,” Michael mutters, “but okay.”

He doesn’t get it. He _needs_ to get it. 

“I have so much money,” Alex complains. “And I’m lonely.”

Michael’s heart beats steadily under his cheek, but when Alex makes that declaration, it feels like it skips a beat, like suddenly he’s nervous.

“You’ve always got people calling you, asking you to go out,” Michael protests. “Maria and Liz, they adore you, they always talk about you back home. You can’t be lonely,” he scoffs. “And you don’t need money to help solve that problem.”

“I know,” Alex says morosely. “It can’t.”

For the first time in his life, Alex actually wants something more than he has. He wants to be the kind of man who comes home to someone he’s in a relationship with. He wants to plan stupid insipid romantic dates, he wants to use pet names, and he wants someone.

The trouble is, he wants someone who’ll love Alex for who he is and not the money behind him. 

“What’s wrong with going out and meeting someone?”

Alex makes a sad little noise in the back of his throat. “Because then I’m playing a part. I’m Alex Manes, rich bitch, playboy of Los Angeles. No one here knows who I really am.” 

They don’t know that he likes to sit on the balcony and play guitar while he burns a fire nearby. They don’t know that his favorite thing to drink is a cold beer and tamales. They definitely don’t know that he likes having his back rubbed, or his hair ruffled and played with. 

_They_ don’t.

Michael slides his fingers through Alex’s hair, and his eyes fill with tears, because there is someone who does know that. There’s someone who makes sure the guitars are out, who orders food from Alex’s favorite Mexican restaurant, and who gives him those reassuring squeezes of his shoulder, those touches through his hair.

_Oh_ , he thinks.

And then, he thinks, _oh_ with a much more miserable edge.

To Michael, Alex isn’t anything but a rich asshole who turns to his money to solve problems. It doesn’t matter how stupidly far in love Alex has fallen, without even realizing. Michael’s a good guy, but that doesn’t mean he’s anything but a good friend.

He should have known this was happening. If he went back through his Instagram history, he’d have seen it, going from the press release like clinical way he spoke about their friendship to the intimate shot he’d taken of Michael with Alex’s guitar. 

He curls up against Michael, intending to use the alcohol as an excuse if it comes up, and buries his face in Michael’s neck to chase off the knowledge that this is all a show. 

Why couldn’t Liz have introduced them so much earlier? Why couldn’t they have met normally?

Then again, would Alex have even looked twice at him? 

That story about him might have been taken out of context, but Alex knows that his money and his situation has lifted his chin above the rest, giving him an amplified sense of self. 

“Go to sleep,” Michael soothes, stroking Alex’s hair. “I’ve got you.”

He does, and Alex is happy to let him.

He'll let the alcohol be his smoke-screen tonight, give him the chance to melt into Michael’s overly warm body, and he lets out a content sigh. “You’re so hot,” he murmurs, rubbing his fingers over Michael’s skin. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he thinks Michael whispers.

There’s the ghost of a kiss to his temple, but Alex thinks he must have drifted off and dreamt it, because it’s too good to be true, and it perfectly fits in with his dreams, lately, of Michael being a starring feature. 

In the morning, Alex’s head is pounding with the worst hangover he’s ever had in his life. He groans and turns in bed, wondering why it feels so warm beside him. It all begins to come back in fits and starts, and he remembers Michael in bed with him, Alex’s pathetic refusal to be alone, and how Michael had stayed through the night.

He can smell bacon cooking nearby, and seeing as the sheets are still warm, Michael can’t have been gone long. 

There are two aspirins on the bedside table with a glass of water, and a pair of sunglasses. 

Alex sits up and puts them on, staring at the world through this new lens, understanding what it is that he thinks he really wants, not to mention the fact that it’s been under his roof these last few weeks.

What’s he going to do about it, now that’s the real question.


	3. Chapter 3

When Alex comes home from a shopping trip (trying to bury his feelings with new shiny blazers and tight jeans), there’s dinner on the table.

It’s not odd for Michael to be cooking for them. He’s made it his subtle mission to make sure that Alex is fed with actual nutrients and food rather than takeout, but the type of food is what’s strangely suspicious and a bit odd. 

“I’m glad to see you’re okay with using my money,” Alex says, when he glances at the cast iron on the stove and sees the amazing looking steaks on it. He squeezes Michael’s hip to make sure he doesn’t start freaking out or protesting when Alex is really only teasing him. 

People don’t usually make food this nice unless it’s an occasion, and from the way Michael keeps averting his gaze, Alex has the sneaking suspicion that whatever’s about to happen isn’t _good_ news.

Alex runs through all the worst case scenarios in his head to prepare himself for it.

Michael hates him. He found out that Alex wants him and he doesn’t feel the same; worse, he’s offended by it. He’s moving out. He’s met someone and wants to ask Alex if she can move in. Or worse, if he can move in.

“Sit down,” Michael encourages, when Alex keeps hovering, almost like he needs to be there to burn off his nervous energy.

He looks nervous. Alex does sit, but only because the alternative is to take off running out the door and that feels like the coward’s way out, even if he wouldn’t mind being a coward at this point in time, if only because it might prolong the inevitable. 

That’s why he stays. 

Even if he runs away, whatever Michael wants to talk to him about is still likely going to happen. Alex sits down and waits, drinking two glasses of red wine in the time it takes Michael to finish cooking dinner, eager to burn off his nerves. 

The steaks are served, Michael refills Alex’s glass (his third), and then they sit there, eating in silence until Michael finally dredges up the courage to talk to Alex about whatever it is that’s demanded a fancy dinner. 

“I got a new job,” he shares, a hopeful look on his face. Michael’s smile seems tentative, though, like he’s nervous as hell about that fact. “Between grading papers at school and working part-time at the auto shop nearby, I can afford my own place. I’ve got first and last payments ready to go, so I can get out of your hair.”

The words smack into Alex like a bullet, but he freezes rather than collapses.

He’s known all along this day is coming. When he’d made the deal with Liz, _he’d_ been the one to insist it’s all temporary. 

Now that there’s an end in sight, Alex realizes that he’d started to think of the arrangement without an end date.

Stupid Alex Manes, with his idiot hopes. It turns out that this is a worst-case scenario after all.

“Oh,” he says, quietly. 

He pokes at the food on his plate, trying to figure out what he’s supposed to say. Then, he remembers. He’s Michael’s friend and nothing more. He’s not meant to be a long-term sugar daddy or be Michael’s escape from the real world. He was a temporary stop-gap, which had been their agreement from the very start. 

“That’s great, Michael,” he says, and he’s glad to hear the way it sounds so sincere. 

“Yeah, it is,” Michael agrees brightly. “I didn’t want to be a burden on you, and I’m pretty sure your situation’s all fixed, so…”

He trails off, like it’s meant to be a good thing. He even lifts his wine glass, ready to congratulate himself for the progress, and Alex would be cruel not to offer that in turn. He lifts his glass and nods, the clink echoing like a gunshot in his mind, reminding him of what’s happening.

Michael’s leaving. 

He’s going.

He made Alex fall in love with him and now he’s going to leave him, like none of it ever happened. Those are the thoughts consuming his mind through dinner and then the dessert Michael bought from the store – a cheesecake that Alex barely touches, dully citing that he’s watching what he eats. 

He’s not proud of how he moves forward. 

Michael clearly still wants to be friends, but Alex isn’t sure he can do that. The last few months with Michael here has changed his life. He doesn’t go out to try and find attachment in the nearest hot guy, he finds joy in the simple things like having dinner with a friend and has even rediscovered his love of music.

There’s also the small complication where he’s in love with Michael, but Michael is about to move out. 

So yeah, Alex does something stupid.

He gives Michael the silent treatment and avoids him as much as he can.

“Hey!” Michael greets him, when they finally run into one another, when his bags are packed and he clearly wants to talk. The hurt in his eyes is so painfully clear and Alex wishes that he could summon up the maturity to deal with this. “I was on my way out. Um…” He takes a step forward, almost like he wants to hug him, then steps back. “Right.”

Alex still hasn’t said anything, his eyes on the bag.

“So, I guess this is…”

He trails off, and Alex remains passive, standoffish, and quiet.

“Right,” Michael interprets the silence for what he sees it to be – Alex Manes, back to being a rich asshole, who doesn’t need anyone else in his life. His eyes dull slightly and the brightness fades as his smile disappears from his face. 

Whatever he’d been hoping for, Alex isn’t going to deliver. 

“I guess I’ll see you around.”

It's the last thing he says before he leaves the apartment. With him gone, the quiet feels angry and too big, surrounding Alex and suffocating him. With Michael gone, the life in the apartment fades with him, and he’s back on his own, just like it was before.

Only, Alex isn’t the same as he was before.

“Yeah,” he says, to the thin air where Michael had been standing. “I’ll see you.”

* * *

“Hey bitch.”

Alex grimaces as picks up his phone. “Lachlan,” he greets calmly. While he wouldn’t call Lachlan and his group his friends, exactly, they’ve steadily been available for a good time when Alex needs one. They never talk about anything personal, but they don’t leave Alex hanging when he wants to go out.

They’ve been friend-adjacent. Before Michael, he might have even called them his best friends, which is a level of pathetic he doesn’t even want to think about.

“I heard you’re full-on rehabilitated,” Lachlan praises. “The media’s all over some new scandal. Defective makeup products and the woman who sold ‘em? Who knows. The only thing I know is that means you are free and clear. You, me, and the boys,” he says, “We’re meeting at Pixie Dust tonight, getting fucked up, and you’re going home with the hottest guy we find.”

He could use the distraction. 

The apartment is so fucking quiet with Michael gone, and Alex can’t even remember what he used to do before he moved in.

Even though it’s probably a bad idea and Alex doesn’t really want to go out, he agrees. 

“Fuck yeah, I’ll meet you there.”

He wears his tightest pants, he wears a vest with nothing underneath, and applies gold eyeliner to his lids, along with a necklace that drapes to his navel, calling attention down to his dick. Alex feels powerful and in command and sexy as fuck. 

When he gets to the club, Lachlan and his buddies ply him with liquor and yank him out onto the dance floor. The shots burn on their way down, warming him to his core, but not enough. He still feels empty and hollow inside. Staggering out a little further, he ignores the tab of E they’re offering him, pushing his way onto the dance floor like if he moves and he sweats enough, he’ll find some relief. 

The music is pounding, so loud that Alex can barely think. It’s perfect. It’s exactly what he needs. The trouble is, he already knows that it’s not what he wants, and convincing himself otherwise is looking like a hell of a task. 

He doesn’t want this.

_(What do you want, Alex?)_

He doesn’t want _this_.

He wants Michael on his couch, curling up with his blanket. He wants popcorn and his bright laughter, his head bowed over books. Alex shakes his head to try and shake the ghost of Michael from his thoughts, but it’s no use. 

_(You know what you want, go and get him)_

Alex reaches for the nearest hot guy, because he doesn’t want to think about that. He doesn’t want to think about how he’s fallen for the guy who left him. Tangling his fingers into the hair of a ginger nearby, he grabs him to make out with him, but it leaves him feeling frustrated and empty, his inner voice crowing victoriously at him.

_(Go. You’re not going to get what you want here.)_

Alex lets out a rough noise of frustration as he stumbles back, pushing his way out of the crowd on the dance floor, unable to ignore that voice in his head. He knows who he wants, and he knows the life he wants isn’t this one, not anymore. He’s got all the money he could ever want, but it’s not going to buy him happiness.

He let happiness walk right out the door to a new job and student housing, like the idiot he is. 

“Hey,” someone calls after him, but Alex ignores it even if he’s pretty sure it had been the guy he'd been making out with. “Where do you think you’re going? It’s turned bad outside!”

Alex keeps moving, pushing open the back emergency exit doors, stepping into a completely different world than it had been when he’d showed up at the club.  
It's pouring. 

Because of course it is. If he thought Liz and Maria controlled the weather, he’d assume that it’s them who are controlling this, because it’s a lot more dramatic for Alex to be soaked, given that he runs all the way from the club they’re at to the garage that Michael got a job at. He doesn’t text Lachlan or the others to tell them that he’s gone, but his phone never goes off, which means they clearly don’t care. 

It’s ten blocks from the club to the garage and it’s so late, but Michael had told him that he’d been hired specifically on the overnights, so he could keep going to school and earn money by working on cars. 

The neon lights of the shop aren’t on, but the garage door is open and Michael’s working by a single lamp. By the time Alex gets inside the garage, he’s shivering and completely soaked from head to toe in the rain. He’s so cold he’s trembling, but he’s so relieved that Michael is there. Staggering the last little bit of distance, he comes to a stop at the front of the garage, clearing his throat.

“Michael,” he exhales, acting real casual considering he’s dripping into a puddle right there on the auto shop’s floor. 

“Alex!” Michael says, alarmed when he sees him. “You’re soaked!”

Alex nods frantically, which sends water droplets flying to the concrete floor beneath him. “I…”

“Are you drunk?” Michael cuts in, approaching with a towel in hand. He wraps it around Alex’s head and uses it to tug him inside, rubbing down Alex’s hair and bringing him even closer to all that intoxicating warmth. Why is Michael always so _warm_? “Alex…”

“I’m not drunk,” he protests softly. 

“I can smell tequila all over you,” Michael scoffs, but tugs him in closer, brushing the towel over his face. “And seeing as it’s three in the morning and there’s tagged photos of you all over Instagram, I’m pretty sure you were drinking.”

Alex stares at Michael, his lips parted, a wondrous look in his eyes. “You follow me on Insta?”

“Shut up,” Michael mutters, and pushes a lock of wet hair back from Alex’s face. “What are you doing here? Half-drunk?”

“Quarter tipsy,” Alex negotiates. 

“An eighth sloshed,” Michael agrees with a smirk. “What are you doing here, Alex?” he asks again, softer than before, like he’s still in disbelief that Alex had left the coziness of the club to come here, of all places. 

“I don’t want to be at the club anymore,” he complains, as Michael gently rubs the water droplets from off his temples, pushing it through his hair. He’s so close and Alex can smell the grease on him, and he can see the little golden flecks in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter who I kiss or fuck or try and escape with, I can’t escape it. I don’t want to be with any of them.”

He lets out a pathetic little huff, almost in full disbelief that he’s about to say this.

“I want to sit under a too-heavy blanket, dying of sweat because you’re a furnace,” Alex protests, laughing as he speaks. “I want to watch ET and Mars Attacks and The Proposal and Miss Congeniality with you.”

“You can’t knock Sandy Bullock.”

“No, you really can’t, she’s a national treasure,” he says emphatically, reaching up for the towel, just so he can push it off his head, giving him a clear look at Michael once he uses both hands to push his hair back from his forehead. “I want to come home and find dinner on the table. I want to take you out to the diner. I want to buy beer for the both of us, and listen to you playing guitar while I fiddle with the latest computer tutorial I’m going through. You made me see there’s a world out there beyond what I know and…”

He exhales, realizing that there’s no part of him that’s upset with that.

“I just want more of it,” he admits. “I know that you didn’t like me to start, and I don’t even know if you’re gay,” he blurts out. “But I want you. I want us, so can we, can you, could you tell me if you like guys?” Alex stumbles over the words. He’s never done this. He’s always had disposable friends, men who he could kick out of his bed. This is the first time he’s ever wanted to _try_. 

He’s still so wet, but Michael’s got the towel wrapped around him, bringing him in until the rain on Alex’s clothes is pressed up against Michael’s coveralls, soaking him completely. Right now, all of Alex’s problems are ones that money can’t solve.

Money can’t dry them any faster. 

It can’t rush Michael’s answer or change his orientation.

And it definitely can’t deliver to Alex what he wants, more than anything.

“I don’t like guys, as a rule,” Michael admits, shrugging and giving Alex an apologetic look. Considering the way his heart plummets, Michael looks far too sweet for such a heartbreaking confession. He pries the towel off Alex, sets it aside, and then reaches for his shirt to tangle his fingers into it, pulling him closer. “But I sure as fuck like _you_.”

He takes it back.

The most pathetic sound Alex makes it the sound of choked, sobbing joy when he realizes that he's not alone in this. He’s not the only one who feels this way. 

“You have your own place,” Alex babbles. “I don’t want to insist you stay with me, I don’t want to be your sugar daddy or anything, but maybe we can have a little bit of what we did before, maybe we can just…”

Michael reaches for the towel again, looping it around Alex’s neck to haul him in for a kiss that knocks Alex off his feet, making him feel like he’s seeing stars, it’s so good. This is what he wants, this is what he’s wanted, and the little voice in the back of his head is smug and quiet, now that he has it. 

He’s tripping on ecstatic relief, and he cups Michael’s cheeks, framing his face, determined to show Michael how _good_ he is at this, and why he should give him a chance. 

Money might not be able to solve all of life’s problems, but lucky for Alex, the lack of it made all of this happen. 

“I still have half of a shift to work,” he says, his voice low as he drifts back from Alex, ruffling him with the towel. “And you’re still soaked.” He nods towards the back of the shop. “There’s a dryer back there,” he says. “You can take things off, get them dry, maybe borrow a pair of my coveralls until then.”

Alex nods, liking the sound of that.

“That sounds like something I’d be a fool not to take advantage of.”

He strips off his shirt, then kicks his boots aside, stripping off his pants as he calmly walks away. When he gets to the doorway, Alex pauses, all his clothes other than his boxers in hand, an intent look zeroing in on Michael.

“You better come show me how to use it,” he says, with a nod towards the laundry. “Who knows what might happen if I stick something in the wrong slot.”

Michael presses his tongue to the back of his front teeth, dropping the towel on the ground as he practically sprints for Alex, grabbing him by the hips and spinning him around in a frantic hurry to yank him towards that laundry room and get every last soaking piece of clothes off him.

Screw the club, and screw that old lifestyle. 

Somehow, Alex is fiercely confident he’s not going to miss a single moment of it, not when he’s got Michael and the life he _truly_ wants sprawling out before him.

* * *

His phone hasn’t stopped ringing since the post.

Alex doesn’t want to answer a single one of them, content as he is to curl up with Michael, exchanging lazy kisses. They’ve been making out for hours in bed, ever since Michael brought him back home and warmed him up. True, they’d slept a little in between, but as soon as they woke up, it was right back to making out, and it hasn’t stopped since. They’ve also done a _lot_ of other things, but it’s impolite to fuck and tell.

That’s why Alex has no time for his meddling friends or well-wishing fans on social. He only wants to spend this time with Michael, learning all the inches of his body until he can recite him from rote. 

Michael, unfortunately, keeps easing back, staring at Alex with bright disbelief and a giddy joy that Alex doesn’t mind seeing, because it’s so beautiful, just like _he’s_ so beautiful, more than money could ever buy. 

“So, we’re boyfriends?” Michael mumbles, eyes on Alex’s lips.

Alex had grabbed his phone as soon as Michael pulled away, in the middle of snapping candid shots of Michael, but he puts it aside so he can bear in on him again, grinning at him with a teasing flair, loving the tentative way he says it. “We are,” he agrees, crawling over to straddle Michael, wondering why he ever had a policy in place not to fuck a guy twice. “Now, how about my boyfriend comes here and tells me all about what he wants?”

Maybe the whole ‘don’t fuck someone twice’ policy is because he’s been waiting for someone as incredible as Michael to come along.

Michael, who’s looking weirdly tentative all of a sudden, his hands on Alex’s shoulders to keep him back. Alex lets out a frustrated pouting sound, but luckily, Michael doesn’t keep him hanging for long.

“In that case, I kind of have something to tell you,” he says cautiously, “but uh, maybe the phone can go away?” 

Weird.

Alex isn’t sure he knows where this is going, but he makes a show of tucking the phone away in the nightstand drawer. Once he’s done that, he makes a show of lifting both hands in the air to display saying, look, ma, no phones. 

“Okay,” Michael says, like he’s trying to psych himself up. “Right. I can do this. I can absolutely do this.”

Alex is starting to worry that Michael is about to confess he’s got some weird sex thing going on, but they’ve fucked at the auto shop and here, and Alex thinks he would’ve noticed if someone was up with his dick. He’s so intently focused on Michael that it takes him a second to catch what’s happening in the corner of his eye. 

The nearby books from their nightstand begin to slowly rise up, juggling in a steady circle, and when Alex looks over to Michael, he can see him concentrating on keeping them all afloat. 

Holy shit.

“Roswell,” he breathes out in amazement, because his boyfriend is ET. 

Michael lets go of the books, allowing them to collapse suddenly on the duvet near their feet. He gives Alex a sheepish smile, almost like he’s nervous about telling him, and wary about what he’s going to do with that information. “Yup,” he confirms, smiling in that soft and sweet way, the one that makes Alex want to kiss him. “Roswell.”

He’s dating an alien. He’s living with an alien.

“That’s definitely not going on my Insta stories,” Alex says, mind racing as he thinks about paparazzi and Michael and powers…

It's a runaway train of thoughts, but then Michael leans in, kisses him, and Alex forgets about anything else in the world.

Beam him all the way up into this relationship, Alex decides, if this is what he can expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming along on the ride! As ever, if you want to come chat about fic things or such, I'm [on tumblr](https://andrea-lyn.tumblr.com/), but will also be returning soon with a new WIP series that basically canon swerves all of season 1.


End file.
